


Little Pieces

by Kaleidoscope_Carousel



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 19:14:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1196349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaleidoscope_Carousel/pseuds/Kaleidoscope_Carousel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You give them a piece of you. They didn’t ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn’t your own anymore. -Neil Gaiman</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Pieces

  
You don’t notice it at first, not really. You barely notice that a piece of you, something so small as to be nearly inconsequential has disappeared. Maybe it was the first time she smiled at you with that gap-toothed grin in the second grade.

“Look Santana,” she said pointing to the space where her upper right central incisor should be. (Not that you knew the name back then, but your dad’s a doctor, ok, and so he doesn’t study teeth, whatever, he still knows about that shit.) “The tooth fairy is gonna come and put a dollar under my pillow!” Her smile is so wide, and her eyes are so bright that you can’t bring yourself to do what your older brother already did to you: tell her that the tooth fairy doesn’t exist, it’s just your parents leaving loose change in your bed. So you just hug her and show her the space that matches hers, where you have a new tooth growing in.

It happens again in fourth grade when your teacher organises a talent night, and she shows up with a top hat and tails to do the tap routine she learned in her dance class that year. It looks so effortless, and you can see the joy on her face. Another little piece disappears. Bigger this time, but you were able to shrug it off and ignore it. Especially when you get a face-full of blonde hair as she crashes into you after her turn up on stage.

“How did I do?” she asks, breathless.

“You were great.” You say. And you mean every word.

In Middle school you drift apart a bit. Not much, because it’s always been BrittanyandSantana, SantanaandBrittany, but she’s taking more and more dance classes and you’re starting to do your own thing, too. Boys are beginning to notice you, and most of your other friends have boyfriends, so you start dating a bit. Fridays are sacred, though. That’s when the two of you curl up together on her parents’ couch with a big bowl of popcorn and watch Sweet Valley High, or Sabrina the Teenage Witch. Sometimes she makes comments about how Salem is a bad influence on Lord Tubbington and maybe he shouldn’t be allowed to watch it with you two. Then she’ll wrinkle her nose (in the adorable way she’s always done) and giggle when you promise to buy her a diary with a lock on it this time so he can’t get in. That’s when another piece goes missing. You notice this time, because you get a funny feeling in your chest. Again, you shrug it off, and concentrate on the tv.

It isn’t until you’re fourteen, and you’ve both been accepted onto the Cheerios that you realise how much of yourself you’ve given to her without ever meaning to. You’re sitting out in your backyard. It’s August, a week before school starts, and you’re both turning over the brand new uniforms in your hands. She holds the red, black, and white top up against you.

“You are going to look so cool in this, San,” she raves.

“You too.” You reply. She sighs, and nudges your knee with her own before settling her head on your shoulder.

“High school is gonna be awesome.” You don’t reply, you just run your hands absently up and down her arm. She hums under her breath some catchy song from the radio. And maybe it’s the heat from the setting sun, or maybe it’s nerves for a new year at new school, or maybe it’s the way the vibrations of her voice travel though your body from her proximity, but there’s an electricity in the air that you never noticed before.

She must sense it too, because she lifts her head from your shoulder, and her bright blue gaze is serious. She leans in and gives you a brief but gentle kiss on the lips. Your eyes are wide as she stands up to face you.

“What was that for?” You ask, trying to fight the urge to bring your hand up to your lips.

“For luck.” She says. “And cause you’re my best friend, San. I love you.” She doesn’t seem to mind that you’re too stunned to say it back. She smiles, quick and bright, just like that little girl you met at Lima Elementary. “I have to go, but I’ll call you tomorrow.” And she’s gone, through the gate at the bottom of the yard and down the alley that leads to her house, half a block away.

You sit and watch her go, unable to move, because Brittany S. Pierce has just left, cradling your heart in her hands.


End file.
